On Freshinkadmin’s blog, there was a photo, borrowed from http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com. The photo was to inspire as part of a writing exercise. It suggested a 212 word micro story which follows the image. The story is unedited. I will work on this piece and submit it to my writer’s group for feedback and editing. I am subnitting it here to you. Please feel free to let me know, via comments, if this flash fiction catches your interest or needs a total revision — and why. Without the why, I can’t improve it.
Riding home from town inside the horse-drawn carriage, she is alone, away from prying eyes. She unties the string around the parcel and tears the brown paper, unwrapping a raft of printed sheets. A handwritten note tops the pile.
“My Dear Mr. Kirkland: It is with great pleasure I send you an advance of $50 toward your novel Paramour. I am enclosing proof sheets. Global Press will publish your book straight away. . .”
Without finishing the note, she bangs her cane on the roof of the coach. It signals the driver to halt. She gathers the pages in a satchel and her long skirt in her hands. She steps through the open door to the ground.
“Wait here,” she says to the coachman.
Heading into a thicket of pines, she disappears from view. She emerges in an opening where she can see straight to the sky overhead. Alone, she dances, head tossed back, and throws the pages into the air. She laughs and squeals to watch paper snow around her.
“I did it. I’m published!”
She spins again, then bends to hold her sides, the corset impeding her breath. She gathers pages, hugging the pile to her bosom. Recomposed, she picks her way back toward her civil life.